


O happy dagger

by LetsGoBeTheGoodGuys



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Blood and Injury, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Nightmares
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-11
Updated: 2020-04-11
Packaged: 2021-03-02 02:54:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,713
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23587969
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LetsGoBeTheGoodGuys/pseuds/LetsGoBeTheGoodGuys
Summary: Takes place shortly after "Born Under a Bad Sign"Sam has a nightmare that he's trying to hurt Dean. When he wakes up, the nightmare doesn't stop.
Relationships: Dean Winchester & Sam Winchester
Comments: 18
Kudos: 50





	O happy dagger

Sam listened to the clock on the wall ticking. It had been a little annoying when he had first gone to bed, but after several hours lying awake listening to it, it was just plain infuriating. He almost wished Dean's snoring from the other bed was loud enough to drown out the sound of the clock.

Sam sighed and rolled over for probably the hundredth time. He couldn't even remember the last time he'd had a full night's sleep. Of course he knew the insomnia was a result of the nightmares. They were getting worse and Sam was terrified to sleep. So he didn't.

Dean had started noticing that Sam wasn't sleeping. Seeing his own sunken eyes and pale face in the mirror that day, Sam wasn't surprised. Dean was bound to realize eventually, anyway. Sam couldn't keep pretending to be fine.

Sam closed his eyes for a few moments as a wave of exhaustion washed over him. Just as he thought he might finally drift off, memories from his last nightmare flooded his mind. _Blood. Anger. Terrified screams._

Sam jerked back to full wakefulness, heart pounding. He took in long, steadying breaths, forcing his heart rate to slow down. He glanced over at Dean, but his brother was still soundly asleep. Sam had the urge to wake him. Just to hear Dean's voice for a moment, to ground him. But Sam shook away the urge. Better to let Dean sleep.

Sam pushed his bangs off of his forehead, they were sticky with sweat from the adrenaline rush. His head ached, but it had been aching for days and Sam was getting used to it. The heaviness in his limbs was not as easy to get used to. Everyday it became more debilitating.

Sam needed to sleep. His thoughts were muddled. That clock wouldn't stop ticking. Dean used to read him bedtime stories. Dad used to give Sam a kiss on the forehead when he thought he was asleep. Sam was exhausted. He missed Jess. He wondered what his mom would think of him now.

Sam's eyes closed again, unbidden. Maybe he would actually get to sleep tonight. Just a little.

* * *

Dean opened his eyes. The room was still dark. What had woken him?

Instinctively, he turned to look at Sam's bed. It was empty.

Dean sat up, feeling sluggish. "Sam?" His voice was gruff with sleep.

He spotted Sam right away and the hair on the back of his neck stood up. Sam was standing by the window of the motel room. Illuminated by the moonlight shining in through the blinds, Dean could see the knife Sam was clutching tightly.

"Sam, what are you doing?"

Sam didn't respond. Dean stood quickly, walking toward his brother cautiously. When he was close enough to make out Sam's face, he saw that Sam's eyes were closed. Dean felt a shudder of fear run through him. Was Sam _asleep_?

"Sammy? Hey, man." Dean reached a hand out to grab Sam's arm. At the same moment, Sam's eyes opened. His gaze was cloudy, unfocused. He swung the knife at Dean.

Dean swore and jumped back. "Sam, what the hell?" He held a hand over the cut Sam had sliced into his arm.

Sam's eyes opened wider. He looked terrified and confused. He looked at Dean, then at the knife in his hand.

Dean was barely able to register what was happening before Sam turned the knife on himself.

" _Sam!_ " Dean lunged for the knife, but he wasn't able to take it from him before Sam had pierced himself in the stomach.

Sam cried out in pain and Dean grabbed both of his arms firmly. "Sam, stop. Stop. Look, you were sleeping, okay? Hold still."

Sam finally looked fully awake. He was breathing hard. "Dean, I don't-"

"It's okay, Sammy. It's okay." Dean's voice - and his hands - were shaking. "If I let go of you, will you hold still? I gotta get this blade outta you."

Sam nodded. A tear slipped down his cheek. Dean's heart twisted. He moved a hand up to Sam's neck, swiping away the tear with his thumb.

"This is gonna hurt," he warned.

Sam nodded. He took in a deep breath as Dean grabbed the handle of the knife. Sam grunted as Dean slid the knife out.

"Okay, okay, there we go," Dean soothed. "It wasn't in there too deep."

Dean guided Sam back to his bed, propping him against the headboard. He helped Sam pull his t-shirt off gently, flinching when Sam groaned.

"Dean," Sam said, voice weak. "I'm so sorry."

Dean sat in front of Sam, letting himself catch his breath. He couldn't quite make eye contact with his brother. His throat hurt from the yell that had torn out of him in his terror. Sam had _stabbed_ himself and Dean hadn't been fast enough to stop him. Thinking about that too much would overwhelm him, so Dean determined to focus on what he could do for Sam now.

"Let's just get you fixed up, alright?"

Sam nodded. Dean moved to stand but Sam caught his arm. "You're bleeding," Sam said.

"It's nothing," Dean replied. But Sam didn't let go of Dean's arm. His fingers tightened slightly.

"I did that to you," Sam said. His voice sounded absolutely wrecked.

"Sam, I'm fine. I've had a lot worse." Dean knew that didn't really help. It wasn't some monster who had attacked him this time.

Dean picked up Sam's discarded t-shirt and pressed a clean part of it against the cut on his arm to stanch the bleeding.

"We'll take care of you first," Dean said, gently pulling his arm out of Sam's grip. He quickly retrieved the first aid supplies out of Sam's bag and returned to Sam's side.

Dean cleaned Sam's wound quietly, carefully covering the puncture with a large bandage. Sam stared down at Dean's hands the whole time he was working, breathing raggedly.

Dean leaned back a little when he finished. "How does that feel?" he asked.

"It's good, thanks," Sam said. He grabbed the alcohol wipes from where Dean had set them on the bed. "Now you."

Dean nodded and offered his arm to Sam. His cut really wasn't that bad and he could easily clean it himself, but he wasn't about to stop Sam from doing something that might make him feel better.

"So what happened?" Dean asked softly. "Were you having a nightmare?"

Sam gently dabbed a wipe on Dean's arm. "Yeah."

"Why did you-" Dean stopped for a moment, struggling to say the words. "Why did you hurt yourself?"

"I thought I was-" Sam started. He cleared his throat and tried again. "I was confused as I was waking up and I saw myself trying to hurt you and I thought..."

"What, Sam?" Dean prompted.

"I thought I was possessed," Sam blurted. He glanced up at Dean behind his bangs, then quickly dropped his eyes again. His voice was agonizingly small as he added, "I thought it was Meg. I had to stop myself from hurting you."

Dean's stomach dropped. No wonder Sam had been so scared. But he had-- Sam had tried to _kill_ himself to save Dean. "Sam," he said, almost whispering. Dean felt like he might get sick.

Sam carefully covered Dean's cut with gauze. He held Dean's arm for another moment before releasing it.

They sat in a tense silence then. Dean didn't know what to say, but he could feel that he was on the verge of breaking down.

"Sam," he started finally.

But Sam interrupted before he could continue, "I'm sorry," Sam said, his voice breaking on a sob. "Dean, I'm so sorry." He covered his face with both hands.

Dean's heart broke, not for the first time. Sam had broken Dean's heart many times in his life. A chubby toddler crying over a scraped knee, a curly-haired little boy asking about his mom, a lanky tween crying when Dean had told him the truth about their life. Every time Sam was hurt, Dean's heart shattered inside his chest. It was the worst pain that Dean knew.

Dean reached forward and pulled Sam's hands away from his face. Sam's face was damp with tears, eyes red. He sniffled and Dean was reminded so much of the little boy that Sam used to be. Dean held tight to Sam's hands and kept his eye contact steadily.

"Sammy, I forgive you," Dean said. "It wasn't your fault. It's those nightmares. It wasn't you."

Sam took in a deep, shuddering breath.

Dean glanced down at Sam's bandaged torso. "Look at what you did to save me," he said, unable to stop his voice from breaking.

Sam smiled weakly. "It wasn't even a question."

Dean released his brother's hands. "Sammy, you can't ever do that again. I was so-- I don't know what I would have done if you had hurt yourself more."

"I know, Dean."

Dean wondered if Sam really knew - if he could understand how utterly devastated Dean would be if he lost Sam. It would be a fate worse than death.

Dean sighed and dragged a hand down his face. He needed to change the subject.

"We gotta find a way for you to sleep, man," Dean said. "Or maybe we should keep your knife under _my_ pillow."

Sam laughed dryly. "I don't think I'll be sleeping tonight," he said.

"Yeah. Me neither," Dean replied. He scooted himself around so he was leaning back against the headboard next to Sam. He grabbed the TV remote and turned on the old box TV across the room. He flipped through channels until he found Full House reruns.

"You comfortable enough?" Dean asked.

Sam adjusted slightly, scooting down a little. "Yeah, this will work."

Dean looked over at Sam, taking in the lines of his pale face and the messy curls around his ears. Dean's chest ached. His whole life was right here next to him and Dean could have lost him in one terrible moment. Dean shifted a little closer so that Sam could rest his head against Dean's arm.

"You're gonna be okay, Sammy," Dean said. "I'm not going anywhere."

Sam's only response was to lean more heavily against Dean and close his eyes. Maybe like this, Sam could actually sleep.


End file.
